


Home Again

by WriteDreamLie



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Family Fluff, Fish Mooney plays mom, Forgiveness, Gen, Here to be adorable, I could be bitter at the show but I think this is much better therapy, M/M, Meanwhile have Martin Ivy and Selina eating all of Oswald's bacon, Now with context!, Oswald adopts the Rogues, That's all kids need right?, This is teenage Ivy (because I love her), To clarify, eventually, forgiveness all around, gobblepot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-04-26 03:56:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14393778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteDreamLie/pseuds/WriteDreamLie
Summary: Oswald has built a home he's happy to share with his family.





	1. Bacon Day

**Author's Note:**

> Martin isn't the only young Rogue Oswald has opened his home to. Turns out, home is a lot more comfortable with company.

Oswald Cobblepot woke to the sound of running water.

It wasn’t the least pleasant way to be woken. Alarms, he found, left him in a foul mood. But with nothing to wake him, he would undoubtedly sleep the day away.

This way, he was woken gently, with time enough to stretch and prepare himself before getting out of bed for the day.

He went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth and hair, decided today was an eyeliner day and applied it accordingly. Back in his room, he chose a formal outfit that was far short of flashy. Not a day for fur collars and patterned coats. Lots of serious business to do today.

He pulled on his shoes with a little more effort than usual, and made a mental note to have Olga bring him his painkillers with breakfast.

He wandered down the stairs and caught the scent of bacon on the way down. Thank goodness for bacon day, he thought.

He rounded the corner, and two of the three faces already at the table lit up.

“Good morning, sleepy head!” Ivy said through a mouthful of egg.

Martin held up his note pad: _You almost missed breakfast!_

“Yes, I can see that!” Oswald turned to the final face, which had not bothered to look up at him, too intent upon the food. “Selina, we haven’t seen you around for a while.”

She waved the implied question away with a quick flick of her hand. “It’s bacon day,” she said matter-of-factly.

“It was bacon day last week too,” Oswald pointed out. He sat down at the end of the table and helped himself to the quickly dwindling piles of food laid out for them.

Selina shrugged. “I was busy last week.”

“And the week before that?”

“Yep.”

“Ah. Still chasing Bruce Wayne then?”

Selina’s chewing slowed, and Oswald saw her cheeks go a shade redder. Ivy’s eyebrows shot up, but she had enough sense not to speak, being well within arm’s reach of Selina.

“It’s not like that,” Selina said finally.

“Sure it’s not.”

The front door swung open with a bang as it hit the wall behind it. Oswald was up and in the hall a moment later, waving for the children to stay in their seats. He inched forward until he could see the front door…

And realized he needn’t have worried at all.

Jim Gordon shut the door more carefully behind him, then looked down the hall at a very confused Oswald.

“Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to slam the door open like that, I was just…”

“Excited for breakfast?” Oswald offered.

“What? No, I have some questions for you about an incident that happened last night.”

“So you did not come for bacon day?”

Jim paused. “…I didn’t know it was bacon day.”

“Liar!” called Ivy from the dining room.

Oswald smiled as Jim’s expression went from flustered to defeated. Of all the outcasts Oswald had picked up over the past year, Jim Gordon was the easiest to read.

“Are these questions that can be asked in front of the children?”

“Not particularly,” Jim said with a glance through the doorway that lead to the dining room. “And unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of time before I need to get back to the GCPD.”

Oswald nodded and gestured with his cane down the hall. “We can talk in the study then.”

As the two passed the dining room, Martin appeared in the hall, hands behind his back. Oswald tousled his hair as he passed. Jim gave a quick wave, and was surprised when Martin grabbed his hand and placed a small plate laden with eggs, bacon, and a large buttered biscuit.

“Um, thanks,” he said as Martin wrote something on his notepad.

 _Don’t be late next week_ it read.

Jim laughed and bit into one of the crispy bacon strips. “I won’t.”

-

“You know, you can just come by for breakfast,” said Oswald as he was showing Jim to the door. “No need for the pretense of business here.”

“Well, I mean, I can’t… I don’t want to impose…”

“Not imposing if you’re invited. At least for bacon day.”

“Right,” Jim said with a smile, the kind that was half resigned, that made Oswald want to drag him back inside for a real meal and some rest. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Oswald gave his hand a quick squeeze. “See that you do.”

When Oswald finally made it back to the dining room, Selina was gone again. Not unusual for her, though he hoped she’d had enough to eat. The table had been cleared, and Ivy and Martin had already disappeared, one presumably to work in her greenhouse, and the other to play his video games.

The absence of company made the room seem all the quieter. But it was a quiet Oswald didn’t mind. This kind of quiet came with a promise of noise, of hustle and bustle later on, of quiet conversation and comfortable chiding.

Soon, summer would be over and he’d be alone in the mansion all day. The quiet then wouldn’t be half as easy as it was now. But even then he could rest assured that he’d have company again by the end of the day.

Oswald went to the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. Then he went back to the study, settling in for another long day of “official” business.


	2. Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did all of these people end up in Oswald's house? Here's how Oswald remembers it happening...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the context chapter, written as much for me to figure out where everyone is as it was for you guys. The fluffy stuff will return in the next chapter.
> 
> In this AU: A lot of the major arcs have happened, but little things changed. Court of Owls happened, Sofia happened, Edward happened, Jerome and his crew have not yet emerged from Arkham.
> 
> However, much of the story including Strange was not a thing, Oswald did not meet Ivy until this story, Fish isn’t dead, Bridgit isn’t Firefly, and people don’t turn on Oswald for no reason other than “”””plot”””” This is a happy story friends, and I will not have my son unhappy again. 
> 
> I also just realized I had Martin playing video games in the last chapter and intend to have him do so again. What year is it??? We just don’t know!!

Martin, of course, was the first of them.

After the mess with Sofia Falcone, there was no way Oswald was letting the boy out of his sight again any time soon. He’d moved into the mansion as soon as Oswald had made it suitable again, clearing every instance of Sofia Falcone from the premises and making absolutely sure security was restored.

It had been a weird few weeks there. In between visits with Martin at the safehouse, and regular check-ups on Sofia to be sure she hadn’t made a miraculous recovery, Oswald was rebuilding a small part of his place in Gotham’s underworld. But, he realized early on, being king was too dangerous for the life he wanted to rebuild here.

So he was happy to hand it back over to someone who had plenty of experience. Surprise number one came early on a Monday morning, though it shouldn’t have surprised him given her history: the appearance of Fish Mooney on his doorstep.

She brought with her surprise number two: a young redhead by the name of Ivy Pepper. Ivy, Fish explained, was the reason she was still alive at all. The girl had a knack for plants, medicinal and otherwise, and had stumbled across Fish while searching the city for a safe place to set herself up a garden.

Oswald didn’t ask at the time how a plant of all things had cured a fatal gunshot wound. He, himself, had managed to recover from a similar fate, and thinking back on his own recovery process, lamented that Ivy hadn’t found him back then too.

Fish, of course, had her own plans for reviving her empire, and had wanted Oswald’s help. His support. And he’d been glad to give it, with the caveat that he would not longer be playing umbrella boy, or spy, or vengeful sidekick.

Instead, he became a business partner. His connections to the GCPD, which had grown stronger in recent months as they realized Oswald’s particular brand of crime was about the least threatening thing in the city, helped keep both Fish and himself out of trouble.

And for Ivy, he’d cleaned up another room in the mansion, and given her free reign over the dilapidated greenhouse out back. She’d been thrilled and taken it upon herself to rebuild what she could.

Tuesday came a with yet another surprise. He’d hired a crew to deep clean the house, scrub out blood stains and whatnot, and as they were bringing his furniture back in, a familiar face filtered through the room.

“Hey boss,” was all the greeting Oswald got from Victor Zsasz after everything that had happened. After watching him kneel to the heiress of the Falcone legacy, kidnap Martin, and even nearly shoot Oswald himself in the streets.

It wasn’t a pleasant reunion by any means, but Victor’s logic was sound.

Victor himself had felt betrayed by Sofia in the end. He hadn’t been privy to the plan to kill Carmine Falcone, and upon realizing it had been Sofia that set up the hit, he decided his loyalties lay not with Sofia, but with her father. And, since one of the Don’s last acts had been to support Oswald’s ambitions, he’d returned to the mansion, to Oswald.

Hardly the stuff of lifelong friendships, Oswald had thought, though he did find it comforting to know just where Zsasz was coming from for once.

Martin, ever-insightful, had shrugged the situation off fairly quickly. _You were just doing your job_ was actually what he’d written on his pad for Victor to read. This quickly developed into a story told in words by Victor and pictures by Martin in which Victor had gone to great pains to make sure Martin was taken care of while in Sofia’s custody. He’d been by the shady apartment often to check on the boy, and Martin added that he’d kept him in good supply of paper, pens, and snacks.

It far from made up for the betrayal, but Oswald couldn’t deny that he appreciated what little Victor had managed to do. And, he decided, it was much safer to have Victor as even a temporary ally than an enemy.

Victor again became his eyes and ears in the underworld. Victor had his own reservations about working for Fish, but he had no problem playing superspy around the city, especially when Oswald approved of him bringing Wendell along on jobs. They were together more than they were apart, a pair Oswald was not willing to try and split up.

The next surprise came months later, on a Wednesday Oswald remembered because Victor would not stop calling it “Hump Day” while making eye contact with Wendell.

The jokes had halted temporarily when Selina Kyle came stumbling into the room, blood dripping from a wound on her shoulder.

Ivy had immediately come to her aid, and after the initial shock of finding each other under such odd circumstances, Selina told them all about the trouble at the Sirens. About teaming up with Barbara and Tabitha, Barbara’s death and miraculous return—a story Oswald was coming to be entirely too familiar with—and Barbara’s latest bout of insanity.

She even told them about going to Bruce Wayne for help, only to have him throw a rich boy hissy fit at her and turn her away. It didn’t bother Oswald to be the last resort; he’d sort of become that by choice.

So he offered Selina a room, which she used sparingly. There wasn’t much else he could offer a girl who liked being on her own the way Selina did, but he made sure that room was clean and ready for when she needed it.

The girl could also put away some food. Apparently, her thieving habits did not often include anything edible, and Oswald made a point to always have something easy to travel with left out in the kitchen for when she did come by.

The biggest—physically biggest, anyway—surprise was another stray brought home by Fish. She herself did not stay in the mansion for many reasons, not least of which was that she didn’t want guns blazing around the children, but she did have a habit of picking up particularly interesting people and bringing them home to Oswald.

One such visit had brought Victor Fries, whom Oswald hadn’t seen since their last confrontation with Ed in the Iceberg Lounge. He’d apparently found himself a hideout outside the city but had made very little headway with his research since leaving Gotham. Turns out studying the effects of cryogenics on long-term, terminal diseases in living human bodies cost a lot of money, and Victor had run out fairly quickly. Oswald assured him that he would help as best he could.

What Oswald remembered most clearly from that day was not Victor’s brilliant smile when Oswald agreed to help fund his research, or the amicable way he and Fish chatted about their time with Hugo Strange.

It was Martin, trying to puzzle out the only mystery he was really interested in.

Everyone had settled in the sitting room, a small fire going in the fireplace to keep the last chill of the spring at bay. Martin had sidled up to Oswald and held up his notepad, pointedly angling so only Oswald would see.

There were three things drawn on the page: on the bottom was a hastily drawn snowflake, on the top was a picture of what Oswald could only assume was a container of French fries, and there was a curly-cue question mark drawn between them.

Oswald had to stop himself from laughing out loud at that, and one hand covered his grin as the other tapped lightly on the picture of the French fries.

Martin nodded solemnly, like someone finally understanding one of life’s deepest secrets.

Oswald made sure to take the page, lest it be shared around by others. He was always aware of how thin the line was between friends and foes in current company and didn’t wish to end up offending anyone unduly.

He did keep the picture though, tucked safely away in his office for when he needed a smile.

The most recent addition to their motley group had come knocking on a Friday a few weeks ago. It was a sheepish knocking, the kind that implied whoever it was knew they were being watched by more than one person with a gun. Due to the nature of his business, Oswald couldn’t just have his guards shooting anyone that came near the mansion, but they were always on high alert for anyone he hadn’t cleared personally.

That day, he was glad to have made such allowances.

The girl at the door was wrapped head to toe in dark fabrics. Her eyes darted around nervously, and he made a note to ask her later on if she was being followed. If she stayed, that was.

She didn’t speak for several long seconds when Oswald opened the door, as if either she wasn’t sure what to say or she wasn’t sure she wanted to say it.

Finally, she asked, “Is Selina here?”

Someone else may have called it fate or serendipity, but Oswald had been through too much to believe in such things and simply considered it good fucking timing that Bridgit had called on a day that Selina was, in fact, in the house.

Selina, for her part, did not know what to do with so many of her own friends in one room. She, Bridgit, and Ivy commandeered the sitting room, as it was immediately apparent that she did not want to talk with Oswald in the room.

After finally hearing her story from Martin, who was small and quiet enough that Bridgit hadn’t minded him sitting with them, Oswald had to admit he couldn’t blame her for her caution.

She’d been compelled to join an arsonist gang by her stepbrother, a calling she didn’t particularly enjoy. After Selina tried to help her get away, they’d had an altercation, which had ended in her burning their place down with him still inside. Unfortunately, she’d gotten caught in the mess herself: the scarves and long sleeves covered an assortment of burns and scars.

He didn’t ask her to elaborate on the situation, didn’t imply that he knew what had happened. She would come to tell him a version of the events in her own time.

But he offered a room. A safe place to be. And people she could be comfortable around.

Once again, Martin was the first. She warmed up to him right away and took to drawing with him on quiet days when Selina wasn’t around.

She grew comfortable around Oswald and Ivy, who were there most often. Victor’s presence she tolerated, though Oswald noted how she tended not to look at him if she could help it.

Bridgit nearly had a panic attack the first time Fish came to see her. Apparently, a few of Fish’s warehouses had been on the list of things she and her brothers had burned down at the height of things. Fish took this revelation and threw it promptly out the window.

Having died and returned a few times since then, Fish Mooney had long forgotten such small slights against her. She had much bigger things to worry about these days, she said, and wasn’t going to blame Bridgit for something her “bitch of a brother” had made her do.

She was, however, thoroughly concerned with the state of Bridgit’s wardrobe.

“Oswald, didn’t I teach you any better?” Fish had accused, looking Bridgit over from across the sitting room. Bridgit was frozen in place, her eyes darting between Fish, Oswald, the room’s only door, which she seemed highly intent upon making use of. But Fish was the first to stand. She made a quick gesture towards Bridgit and said, “This will have to go.”

She walked out the door, down the hall, and out of the mansion.

Several hours later, Fish returned and told Oswald to have Bridgit wait in another room. Once she was gone, Fish ushered in several henchmen, arms laden with boxes. She waited until they’d cleared out of the room before opening the boxes and calling Bridgit back in.

Bridgit stood at he door, still wary, until Fish began unpacking.

Scarves in every color, many embroidered with delicate designs. Long-sleeved and high-collared dresses and shirts. Soft but sturdy knee-length boots. Beautifully crafted gloves.

To this day, Oswald couldn’t guess where she’d found a wardrobe so perfectly tailored to fit Bridgit’s needs, but Fish was undoubtedly proud of herself, and Bridgit had been more than grateful. If you asked them now, both women would’ve denied that there were any tears shed at all, but Oswald knew better than to ask.

Since then, the peace in the house had held relatively firm. So long as no one tried to get Selina to stay too long, Bridgit was warned about strangers, Ivy was allowed to tend to her plants, and no one tried to stop Martin playing his video games, everything was well.

It put Oswald on edge. The other shoe had to fall eventually. This was Gotham, after all.

But, in the meantime, he was happy to have and share any semblance of peace he could find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? If he can forgive Butch, he can forgive Victor. Also, a key point of this story is the kids calling him “Uncle Victor,” and that’s just not something I’m willing to give up, I’m sorry.
> 
> This will probably be the only chapter I write that isn’t at least 80% dialogue. I love having people talk, so this kind of exposition dump will not be the norm, I promise.
> 
> Side note: Did we always know Headhunter’s name was Wendell??? I love that so much.


	3. Kids These Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief contest to see who can make Oswald worry the most.

“Honey, I’m home!”

“Wendell’s not here, Victor,” Oswald called, not looking up from his newspaper.

Victor wandered into the dining room and helped himself to a chocolate-filled croissant. “I was talking to you, but fine, spurn my affections like always.”

Oswald smiled and hid further behind the paper. “Any news to report?”

“Nothing big.” Victor swallowed his mouthful of croissant and grabbed another. “Fish is taking another warehouse today, apparently an old one of the Don’s. Me and Wendell are heading down there this afternoon to help her out.”

“And you’re going down there this morning to clear it out first?”

“Yep!”

Oswald set his paper down. Nothing of note was written there either, though it was rare that the journalists of Gotham got the scoop on anything really important and lived to tell the tale.

“What are you expecting to find there, Victor?”

“Nothing but trouble,” he replied cheerfully. Another two croissants disappeared in short order. Before Oswald could interrogate him further, Ivy and Martin burst into the room.

“Uncle Victor!” Ivy slammed into him, wrapping both arms around his middle. Zsasz met Oswald’s leveled gaze and held his hands up defensively, trying to silently assure him that the guns were tucked safely away.

“Hey kiddo. And other kiddo.” He waved at Martin, who had hung back and was writing furiously on his pad.

Ivy released him and stepped back, all but bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Sooo did you bring them?”

Zsasz looked surreptitiously from Ivy to Oswald, then to the door as if expecting someone to come through. Without meeting Ivy’s eyes, he reached into a front coat pocket and produced a small white paper package, which he handed over in the most obviously sneaky way possible.

“Don’t tell anyone I got you the good stuff,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

Ivy snatched the package dove forward for another hug, her small squee of excitement echoing through the room.

“What the hell—” Oswald began to demand, but Ivy was gone again before he could finish.

He looked at Zsasz, who he doubted would give the children drugs right in front of him, but doubly doubted that what he’d given Ivy was any safer. Victor shrugged and picked a lone bit of chocolate from the now empty croissant plate.

“It’s some kind of exotic flower, boss. Can’t even pronounce it. But I was in the seedy district and thought I’d pick her up a few.”

“Better not be anything illicit in that package, Victor,” Oswald warned.

Victor made a show of looking offended until Martin tugged on his sleeve, holding up his pad to be read.

“No, uh-uh, no way,” he said in response to whatever was written there. “You’re gonna have to ask him first.” Zsasz pointed a chocolate-smudged finger in Oswald’s direction.

Martin looked between his father and his uncle, both their faces pinched in a different kind of discomfort, then promptly shook his head and walked back out of the room.

“What was that all about?” Oswald asked, his newspaper fully abandoned.

“You’d better ask him yourself, boss. That kid’s more intuitive than he lets on.” He licked a finger, clearing the last of the chocolate, and shot Oswald a wide smile. “I’ll give Fish your regards.”

“Please do,” Oswald replied. A moment later, the mercenary was gone, and Oswald was alone again.

_Now,_ he thought to himself, _to make sure Ivy isn’t growing drugs, or to make sure Martin isn’t planning something dangerous?_ It was like a damned choose-your-own adventure book, only if he didn’t like the outcome he couldn’t just flip back and pick again.

Oswald sighed. Set his paper down. Downed the rest of his now chilly tea. Stood slowly, stretching his leg as he went. Then headed upstairs towards Martin’s room.

**Author's Note:**

> I've lived through heartbreak before, and I shall again. But this is how I'll cope in the meantime.
> 
> Next to join the cast: Bridgit and Victor. Which Victor? Yes.


End file.
